


Undone

by Gelana



Series: Untitled [2]
Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 21:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 6,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelana/pseuds/Gelana
Summary: Follow-up to Unsaid.





	1. Chapter 1

Serena didn't trust it yet - this elation, this humming, vernal sensation.

They hadn't avoided each other per se, but the AAU was busy and their patients pulled them in different directions. Serena didn't mind. It gave her space to ruminate on the feel of Bernie's freckled skin beneath her lips, bare breasts in her hands. Simply knowing Bernie was in the hospital put Serena at ease. Catching sight of a messy mop of blonde hair settled her, reminded her that she wasn't alone on the ward, her co-lead was back, turning beds, tending patients with her usual efficiency, catching her eye occasionally, holding her gaze a breath too long. Serena enjoyed working with people she learned from, who challenged her, challenged her to bring her best game. That was what she told Hansen. That they were on their way back to the same solid working partnership that had served the AAU, and the trauma wing so well. He looked at her as though he didn't quite believe her, but let the statement go, unremarked upon.

She meant what she said, Bernie needed to show her that she'd changed, that she meant to rebuild trust. Time would tell. But not scarpering off in the wee hours of the morning was a solid start. As were the latte and pain au chocolat that appeared on her desk near the middle of her shift. _To keep your energy up_ , was scrawled on the back of the wax paper bag. She rolled her eyes when she read it, tried not to grin like a fool and failed miserably. She was grateful for the maddening pace, it kept her focused, kept her from falling to giddy pieces, as besotted as she was.

 


	2. Chapter 2

It was a long day, longer than expected when she rushed a drink driving victim into surgery to save a ruptured spleen half an hour before she was supposed to be off. She managed it, thankfully, but needless to say, there was a text message from Jason waiting for her when she finished.

 _I couldn't start the soup without you,_  it read. _Not with my shoulder the way it is, so I called Alan. He is coming to collect me and said we shall have guys night at his flat. He even has soup we made together months ago in his freezer. You should do the same so I can warm it over the stove when you are running late on Thursdays. You are late regularly enough that I think this is an excellent idea_.

Serena sighed heavily, and looked at the clock. Bernie would be off in an hour and a half. Enough time to stop by the market gather a few things (she was out of chicken stock for one) and make soup or whatever else they wanted.

Bernie was swimming in files when Serena walked into their office to collect her purse and coat.

"Hello, you," she said softly as she closed the door behind her. She'd had something quippy planned, and forgot it completely at the sight of golden hair in the lamplight.

"Hello," Bernie replied, smiling before she looked up. "The spleen?"

"Saved and sorted."

"Good. Jason?"

"Thoroughly irritated with his Auntie," Serena said, with a sigh. She stepped closer, settled her weight next to the stack of files on Bernie's desk. "He tattled to Alan that I was late. Alan, bless him, suggested Jason have soup night there."

"Oh?" Bernie leaned back in her chair, leveled a look at Serena.

"Don't you 'oh?' me," Serena teased, trying and failing to hide her delight. "We both have an early shift tomorrow. I only mean if you'd rather something besides soup, we have flexibility, if ... if you still want to come 'round, that is."

"I do," Bernie whispered, her hand touching Serena's, resting tentatively. Serena turned her palm to lace her fingers through Bernie's, desire swelling in her chest.

"Good. I can run to the store on my way home. What would you like to eat?"

Bernie's only response was raised eyebrows and a meaningful look.

"Behave, you," Serena said, rolling her eyes.

"Can you blame me?" Bernie said with a smirk. "You've had me flustered and floating like a hormonal teenager all day."

"Have I now?" Serena asked, pleased with the insight.

"You have," Bernie's expression shifted slightly, her smirk softened. The vulnerability that shone through gave Serena gooseflesh. Bernie squeezed her hand. "There's no need to go to the store. What do you have on hand that's easy to cook?"

It took a moment for Serena to register the words and then answer.

"Honestly, not much - leftover cottage pie, pasta with jarred mushroom marinara, salad fixings, eggs."

"Perfect, I vote pasta."

"You sure? I don't mind getting something."

"I'm hungry. It goes with wine, it's already late, and we had cottage pie last night. I'm sure. Besides, it's the company that makes the meal."

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
It took Serena a long time to pull her gaze and her hand away from Bernie. She shook her head as she drove out of the car park. She was well and truly done for; there was no coming back from this, and aside from not properly trusting it, she wasn't bothered by that fact. She'd worried a little that her imagination and the reality of having sex with Bernie wouldn't mesh, that she might not like it, that she herself wouldn't measure up. She'd not realized how much those concerns nagged at her, until literally putting them to bed. Having incredible chemistry, being head over heels in love with someone and being sexually compatible were three entirely different tumblers that all needed to line up. Her previous relationships were evidence enough of that.

She boiled water and minced garlic with the sensory memory of Bernie's clenching muscles ghosting her fingers. Despite a shower and several hand-washings, she still caught scent of the woman in her morning meeting with Hansen when she scratched her face. She'd lost her train of thought mid-sentence, and felt her cheeks burn.

By some miracle, Bernie managed to escape on time; no last minute red phone. A shiver slipped up her spine when she read Bernie's text and she smiled, then scowled at how quickly, easily, and completely she had let Bernie back into her life.  
She wanted to trust, to hope, even though she shouldn't. The alternative was no Bernie and that wasn't currently a viable option. It made her feel idiotic at best when she properly thought about it. She texted back that Bernie should let herself in. The door was open.

Serena didn't like how much the hope felt like Edward's many chances, but the circumstances — and people — were very different. She wasn't taking back a cheating husband; Bernie had been overwhelmed and didn't know how to say so and bolted. That was different. She was giving Bernie the opportunity to prove things to her, she wasn't pretending it hadn't happened for the sake of her daughter. She could understand Bernie's panic and thought processes, could see Bernie trying. As much as it felt like repeating old patterns, it was different for both of them. She wasn't Marcus or Alex, Bernie wasn't Edward or Robbie. Still, it stuttered in the background, just enough to make itself known.

And then a knock sounded and Bernie's warm hello, silencing the low grade nattering.

"In the kitchen." Serena was fairly confident that it would be days or less before she would add "darling" to the end of that statement. As it was she held herself in check by a thread. Keeping her hands busy, she sliced up the improvised garlic bread, having appropriated a slightly stale brioche for the job. Pretending that the kisses dropped on her shoulder, on the back of her neck were an everyday occurrence didn't stop the blood from rushing loud in her ears.


	4. Chapter 4

"Smells fantastic," Bernie said, sounding enthusiastic, if exhausted.

Serena washed her hands in the sink before turning fully.

"Thank you," she said and took the proffered wine-bottle from Bernie. She set it on the table before wrapping her arms around Bernie's waist. They stood there swaying slightly in the warmth of the kitchen. Bernie nuzzled into Serena's shoulder, held fast to her. Serena sighed, enjoying the silence, the stillness, the steady rhythm of their breath.  
  
"What are you doing traipsing about in this cold with damp hair, Major?" she murmured into the skin of Bernie's jaw.

"You'd rather I arrive reeking of disinfectants, hand sanitizer, and sick?"

"That group of drunk teens got another one, eh? NHS standard-issue shampoo & conditioner it is! I had no idea you were such a romantic," Serena teased.

"Oi!" Bernie said with a grin. "Can't a girl try to clean up a bit to make a good impression?"

"You've never once failed to make an impression, Major," Serena said, raising a eyebrow and stealing a kiss. "And your timing couldn't be better. The garlic bread is fresh from the oven. Plate or bowl?"

"Depends. Table or sofa?"

"I wasn't joking about the telly and a cuddle. Sofa."

"Bowl then, obviously," Bernie said. "I'll help myself."

"Do. I'll open the wine."

"I'm afraid the best I could round up at this hour was a Pinot Noir from the corner Tesco."

"I suppose these are the sacrifices we make for the NHS. Though, for future reference, the offie down the other way — straight through the roundabout — keeps a case of Shiraz on hand for just such emergencies."

She didn't mention the case of Shiraz she typically stocked in the basement. Or the two bottles in the pantry, or the good bottle from Sian, that she'd been saving for God knows what. Instead she poured two glasses of a rather unpromising Pinot, and grinned. Bernie was right - the company made the meal.

They sagged against one another on the sofa, sighed and stretched into exhausted muscles. Being with Bernie felt easy, natural. They laughed at their huge forkfuls and hungry bites, at the wide-mouthed yawns they passed between each other. They wolfed their pasta down quickly, not really paying attention to the unending chatter of the 24-hour news cycle. They were far too busy pretending they weren't exchanging furtive glances while they discussed the ward, the day's surgeries, the relative speed of turned beds, successes and mistakes, and planned for what likely awaited them tomorrow. Bernie levered up and took Serena's bowl from her hands, came back with seconds, and then emptied the bottle of Pinot into their respective glasses - it wasn't a bad a vintage after all, even if it was too fruity for Serena's taste. It was not long before bellies were full, limbs slack and languid. They fell quiet, contented to let go of the day and tangle together, to share tired kisses and lazy caresses, while the telly droned on.

A feeble swat to her thigh roused her a while later. "Wake up, Campbell. We're too old to be sleeping like this."

"Sorry," Serena mumbled, interrupting herself with a yawn. "It was selfish to invite you tonight when we're both exhausted and needing to be up so bloody early. I don't mean to be greedy."

Bernie hummed and hid her face, didn't say anything until they were shuffling upright.

"I don't mind it when you're greedy," she finally replied, her expression playful and soft.

Serena flushed and hid the pieces of herself — the bits that were falling apart and floating in turns — behind a resounding kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kisses to my lovies on tumblr who came to my inane-fanfic-tidbit rescue and taught me about Sainsbury's, Tesco Express, and offies. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't a sacrifice, learning to be with this woman, staying up late with her, going to bed with her, bare skin to bare skin.   
She wasn't yet used to the feel of one Serena Campbell seizing her hand and pulling her close. Serena was exhausted, clumsy, only half-awake. They lay together — all soft curves and open, loose muscles — and there was none of the tension or frenetic intensity of the night before, only a sonorous sigh, and moments later - Serena, asleep.  
There were places where Serena's bravado was threadbare and worn. Where you could see her vulnerabilities — the authenticities of her — exposed underneath it all, if you looked close enough. Bernie wanted to seek out those thin places, one by one, to cup and cover them with her palms.

If she breathed silent apologies, made good on all the unspoken promises of the night before, if she swallowed her panic and stayed, would Serena let her tease those vulnerabilities loose? How long would Bernie pick at the binding of her mantle, undoing seams a stitch at a time, building the trust she'd broken in a moment of panic?

Bernie blinked in the darkness and took in great, slow, lungfuls of air that tasted of Serena and sleep. Terrified of her blessings, she blinked her tears away as soon as they pricked her eyes, swallowed at the ache in her throat, and wrapped herself around the gift in her arms, blissfully warm.

 


	6. Chapter 6

They scrambled in the morning, not quite used to the rhythm of this aspect of their partnership. Bernie decided that bed-warm, pillow-creased Serena Campbell cursing at the alarm was her new favorite way to be woken. She liked the roundness of Serena's voice bouncing about the en suite and the swing and sway of full breasts as they shimmied into a bra. Serena didn't seem to mind Bernie's silence, simply chattered on. Bernie was wholly distracted by all of it, felt herself pulled in seven different directions at once, to the point of being grateful to kiss Serena goodbye at the door — shy, awkward, all elbows and nose, feeling fifty and fourteen at the same time — and drive their separate cars to Holby. It gave her time to breathe, to prepare for the day, to pretend she wasn't unraveling from the absurdity, the unexpected joy of it all.  
She stopped at her apartment, extracted a relatively unwrinkled blouse from her unpacked mess of a suitcase. She hung it inside the shower and careful not to wet it, turned the hot water on full blast to steam out the wrinkles. She was in no mood to bother with fighting the ironing board.

When Bernie arrived, Serena was just leaving Pulses, a coffee in each hand.

"Ah, Ms. Wolfe, good of you to join us."

Bernie pursed her lips to keep from grinning and helplessly followed Serena onto the lift. The morning throng pushed them together at the back. Serena handed her a cup.  Even through Bernie's gloves it was satisfyingly warm. They didn't look at each-other, rode in silence. Bernie could feel how different it was, this silence grown of understanding, comfort.   
It was a short lived silence, they barely had a chance to stow their coats and purses and take three sips of their coffees before the AAU demanded their full attention.

Before Bernie knew it, she was two surgeries into the day, and the ward was filled to the gills. From that point on it was putting out fires and trying to funnel as many patients off to Darwin and Keller as humanly possible, and for a blissful while feeling as though she'd never left. Their throughput was surprisingly consistent and bit by bit, they waded through a robust Friday afternoon. Bernie hadn't forgotten how much easier it was to push through bleariness with Serena at her back, she also hadn't expected to be so thoroughly warmed with the occasional look of promise. Still, they decided during their late lunch together — tepid cafeteria burritos over charts in their office — that Serena owed Jason a quiet night and her full attention, and Bernie needed to unpack and settle in.

"But tomorrow...?" Serena looked at her with such vulnerability it nearly made Bernie's heart burst.

"Dinner? After my shift?" Bernie offered, holding Serena's gaze, even though doing so made her cheeks flush hotly.

Serena smiled. "Ok."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I suck. I have another chapter almost finished, hoping to not make y'all wait so long. The writing gods are fickle, and I have apparently offended them greatly.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time she keyed into her little flat Bernie was dog-eared and exhausted. Stupidly, she'd forgotten food, and her favorite shawarma closed an hour earlier. At least pizza was still an option. She smiled to see a text notification waiting for her when she pulled out her phone, even though she chose to ignore it. First she called for delivery, knowing what a distraction Serena Campbell could be. Only when she was done did she open her messages.

  
" _Shocking how tired I am without you here to keep me up. Hope you got out on time."_

Bernie took a breath and let herself grin outright.

" _Not remotely, but you know I like a challenge. Much as I enjoyed keeping you up, we both need a bit of shut eye."_

Serena's response came faster than she expected it to. " _Sleeping poorly with you is no chore, but I'm looking forward to proper rest. Here's to a peaceful night and an uneventful day on the ward for you tomorrow."_

" _Come round mine when I'm off? Takeaway and a chat?"_

" _Perfect. So long as it's not pizza. Heathen."_

" _Oi! Snob! A ham and pineapple is being delivered to me as we speak."_

_"Shudder. Abomination against man and beast. Enjoy."_

Bernie didn't know what to do with the elation the texts left her with. She might not deserve it, but she was grateful for this normalcy of their banter, the back and forth familiarity of routine.

Looking around, she decided that time waiting for the pizza needed to be spent attacking the mess she left behind when she fled to Kiev.


	8. Chapter 8

Jason has begun a self-imposed specialization on, and close viewing of every YouTube documentary he could find focused on ancient history.  Greece, Rome, and Eygpt provided a fascinating starting point. He had moved from Egypt back to Mesopotamia, and was happily ensconced in a documentary that had taken him to ancient Sumer.

Serena iced his shoulder with the same sad bag of peas, wrapped in a kitchen towel. At his insistence, she'd written JASON on one side, and DO NOT EAT on the other with permanent ink. She sat with him, nursing a glass of utterly disappointing Shiraz that she found in the back of the cupboard but couldn't remember buying. Possibly a gift from Elinor, maybe a leftover from Robbie's well-intentioned attempts at wooing her back. She sighed heavily at the thought of that desperate bit of foolishness. Fortunately, her memory of the sight (and feel) of a tousled head of blonde hair between her thighs, tucked beneath her chin, was enough to drown out all things regrettably Robbie. She took another sip of the unbalanced wine, and focused on her phone, on the low throb of lust, the hopeful ache in her chest, the sense of the yawning enormity of it all. How ridiculous it was having feelings like this while texting about bloody pizza. It was the moments like this she missed most of all, their easy humor. Nattering on about inconsequential things with Bernie always put her at ease. Serena yawned and smiled, mind slipping back to her bedroom, to how she'd growled "Berenice," low and rumbling, when she was making Bernie come. It was a delectable name when stretched out to its syllables.

"Are you texting Bernie?"

  
She bit back a self-conscious denial, and ignoring the current state of her knickers, mustered up what she hoped was a sufficiently matronly look.

"I am. She's waiting for a ham and pineapple."

Jason perked up at that and paused the telly. "You never let me get ham and pineapple on our pizza!"

Serena rolled her eyes. "Because civilized people don't use fruit as a pizza topping."

"Auntie, I can only assume you are being facetious, because both Bernie and I are assuredly civilized."

"Jason..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will get back to secksy time eventually, I promise.


	9. Chapter 9

Old mail and academic journals littered the coffee table and counter, stale laundry drooped over the arm of the couch and various backs of chairs. Bernie set to work sorting, clearing, chucking, and tidying. When the phone pinged again, she ran her first load of rubbish and recycle down to the dumpsters; she decided she could show that much restraint, that she could wait that long to read the message.

_"Jason has informed me that he thinks the two of you should schedule a monthly pizza and quiz show or documentary night. He too is a heathen."_

Bernie honked and then pressed her lips into a thin line to stop her chin from trembling. She swallowed and cleared her throat. Jason's affection was honest and blunt, without ulterior motives. It humbled her to have earned it.

" _Tell him that's a cracking idea. I'm game."_

She decided to race Serena's response, and see how many things she could clear before it appeared.   
There were still tissues in her dustbin and wadded up in the folds of her sheets, reminders of the tears she hadn't been able to silence, of the sinking regret she felt before she'd even left. They sat with her like guilt — the crumpled ghosts of her choices — while she changed the bedding. A ping pulled her out of the past, out of her brooding and she took a deep breath and ran the rest of her old rubbish down to the dumpsters.

Back inside, hands scrubbed, she pulled out the spare blanket, the hideous sparkling purple and Barbie-pink beast on which nine-year-old Charlotte learned to crochet (well before Bernie was public enemy number one) and wrapped herself in it before reading the text.

_"Thank you, for how you are with him."_

Bernie frowned at that. She didn't like to think about anyone being less than kind to Jason, or that her treatment of him was somehow special.

" _You don't need to thank me for that. He's a lovely young man. I like his perspective, how his mind works."_

_"Still. Thank you. You are good with him. Patient."_

She couldn't think of what to write, finally settled on, "Thank you for sharing him with me." Before she could finish typing, the phone rang in her hands, startling her.

Serena's voice rasped through the speaker, "I'm sorry. I ... I hope this is ok."

"Of course. Serena..."

"I... I don't really know why I called."

"To see if I'd pick up?" Bernie tried to sound appropriately self deprecating.

"Maybe." Serena sighed. "It was a shitty thing to do, Bernie. And you didn't do it to just me."

"I know."

"He missed you, too," Serena said, her voice rough with emotion. "I'm sorry, I didn't call to chastise you. I know you know how much you messed up. I... I wanted to hear your voice. And I just ... It's just that, well, we come as a pair, Jason and I. I meant it, you're good with him, to him. Thank you for that. You're important to him as well, not just to me; please don't forget it."

"I... I won't." Bernie whispered, blinking hard, looking up at the crack in the ceiling, wiping her eyes with the pad of her thumb.

"Good," Serena cleared her throat. "Okay."

Bernie breathed into the knot that rose in her chest, the all too familiar ache she felt when she thought about how she left. She wished Serena was there, wanted to be touching her while they spoke, punctuating her words with a stroke, or nudge, a look.

"Serena?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I'm glad you called."

The pizza was announced a little later, with a sharp knock that ended their stumbling, over-emotional attempts at casual conversation.

"Go enjoy your abomination," Serena said. Bernie could hear her smile.

"Goodnight, Serena."  
  



	10. Chapter 10

Bernie liked the awkward twenty-something who invariably appeared with her pizza. They had a good work ethic, tended to say odd things, and stood as tall as Charlotte, but with blue hair and more piercings.

"I'd thought you'd gone off us," they dead-panned when she opened the door. "No orders for a while."

"I was out of the country."

"Glad it wasn't dodgy pizza."

Bernie shook her head and grinned. "No, not dodgy pizza. I just needed to learn a few things the hard way."

"Hard way or not, glad you learned." The youth nodded, handed over the pizza and took the clumsily offered payment. "Welcome back."

"Good to be back, ta. See you next time. Be safe," Bernie said and waved them off. They were far too sweet for their own good. She was glad they seemed well, was pleased for the familiarity of the interaction, for the gentle tug on her questionable maternal instincts. She had a life here, one she could see herself wanting; she had people who noticed when she was gone, who were glad to see her when she returned.

Bernie turned on the Shipping News while she ate, let it lull her. She practiced the things she wanted to say to Serena in between bites. The second shot of whiskey burned in the back of her throat, even as she readied for bed. When she fell asleep, it was with a belly full of ham and pineapple, and a lingering feeling of falling apart or being put back together, maybe a bit of both.


	11. Chapter 11

Serena roused to hooded eyes, and the tip of Bernie's nose brushing hers. She hummed and accepted the good morning kiss, arching her back to pull their bodies into deeper contact. It was a sleepy exploration, all murmured moans and loose muscles. It struck her as only mildly odd when they were inexplicably on the chaise in the conservatory. Then, when Bernie broke away from their kisses to clamber into a particularly hideous armoire, her primary concern was that she didn't own any such armoire. She startled awake to a decidedly empty bed, disoriented and aching.

It was most certainly not the first time she'd dreamt of the Major, nor even the most vivid. But it was the first time that she didn't feel conflicted having a morning wank to decidedly unplatonic thoughts of her dearest friend. It didn't take long at all, only a minute or so before she arched into the pleasure, stiff and silent, then gasping and quaking at her own finger strokes. Her mind had been growing fantasies like fruit, ripe and resplendent for the plucking. If Bernie didn't head for the hills anytime soon, she would work up the nerve to share a few. She smiled at that, shivered a little.

Three sharp raps on her door broke through the thoughts she luxuriated in.

"Auntie! Auntie Serena? Are you all right in there?" He continued on before she could fumble through an excuse. "I know you prefer a lay in on the weekend, but honestly, it's a good thing I know how to make my own pancakes. _Saturday Kitchen_ started ten minutes ago. Are you well?"

Serena squinted at the clock and swore under her breath, it was past ten. She never slept beyond eight. "Sorry Jason, I'll be down in a tic."

 _At least the door's locked,_ she thought, sighing deeply.

"I made pancakes for you too, though they'll be cold by now."

She made the bed and straightened the room, trying to distract herself from the want still pricking her nipples, the embarrassingly sodden gusset of her knickers. She bit her lip, and imagined whispering delectably vulgar things into the shell of Bernie's ear, wondered what reactions might be a teased out with words alone, how brightly she would blush.

Her mind continued to meander in the shower, danced and simmered with images of Bernie twined around her, groaning and gasping under her touch. She pressed the shower head between her thighs and adjusted it to the most suitable pulse setting. She came again, so quickly and so hard it embarrassed her despite her solitude, made her cheeks flush and desire burn low in her belly well after she padded down the stairs, dried and dressed to watch telly with Jason.

Words licked up her spine, things she wanted to say to Bernie, things she'd like to hear in Bernie's moans. She pretended to be paying attention to _Saturday Kitchen_ , did her very best to listen to Jason critique the techniques he had learned making crêpes. But all Serena could think about was the other night, pressing her tongue deep inside of Bernie's sex and how she wanted to do it again, to taste her again, to nip and suck at her, to make her buck, strain up and go slack, to feel intimate muscles tightening and pulsing around her fingers.

She wanted to tell Bernie, to text her, maybe whisper it through the static of the cell, wanted to make her suffer a little on the ward. Serena thought better of it, decided that she could wait, and instead let her mind wander and her lust percolate.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

"Not back a week yet, Ms. Wolfe, and I see you've made your presence known," Raf dead-panned, nodding at the piles on her desk as he handed over the night's charts. His eyes were alight, all mirth and mischief for someone just ending an overnight shift. 

Well, that was one more person who obviously knew. She suspected it was all over the ward, and for once in her life didn't particularly care.

"Missed me, did you?"

"Aye. We all did. Round at Albie's soon?"

"On me," she nodded her goodbye. "Thanks, Raf."

Hours later Bernie closed what felt like the fiftieth chart, but was probably only the fifteenth.

She was grateful for the relatively full night's sleep that she was working off of. It was the only reason she was still upright. The ward was utterly dull. It irritated Bernie to no end, gave her no choice or excuse but to muck through her already significant stack of paperwork. Beyond that, her primary goal for the day was to keep the smile off of her face. Her cheeks hurt, and one did not uphold a reputation as one of the country's preeminent trauma surgeons humming, smiling, and swooning whilst reviewing charts. It was taking her twice as long as it usually did, time dripped slowly by, now that she knew what it felt like to have her arms around one sweaty and sated Serena Campbell. What was paperwork compared to memories of the short breathy string of moans Serena made before she came? To the sight of her head thrown back, hips moving erratically? Serena had given over completely to sensation, to the pleasure Bernie worked from her. It had been ... exquisite was the only word that came to mind.  
Exquisite. And overwhelming. Good-overwhelming. Shit-eating grin good-overwhelming, but still.

She was grateful that they'd had a little space to adjust, that Serena wasn't sat across the desk from her, smirking, brimming with cheek. It was nice to have a day or so to get her land legs as it were.

She finished her second to last chart and cringed at the echo of her words.

" _I more than like you."_

_More than like. You love her, you stupid cow. You've never felt this way about anyone before, and the best you could do was, "I more than like you." Idiot._

Serena had grown to fill every corner of her life, and Bernie knew it. It took running to Kiev to make her realize that she didn't want it any other way.  
  



	13. Chapter 13

O _ut on time for once,_ Bernie tapped into her phone. _Give me a little while to get home and sorted. Come round in an hour and a half?_

Serena responded almost immediately to her text, fast enough that it made Bernie grin stupidly.

_On time? There's a shock._

Back at her flat, Shiraz purchased, shawarma takeaway tucked into the microwave in a futile attempt to keep it warm, Bernie showered the ward off of her skin, out of her hair. She grimaced at the sight of herself toweling off in the mirror, scars glaring, all ribs and sagging tits. She sighed. She'd lost weight in Kiev. Not much, but enough to remember Marcus complaining when she returned home from her postings that she was all skin and bones, that she had nothing left to hold onto. She plucked a grey jumper out of her overflowing rucksack, which was still sat on top of her suitcase at the foot of her bed. With all the other cleaning and laundry, she hadn't bothered to unpack, just pulled what bra and pants she wanted from the tangled mass of clean clothes.

While Bernie had made solid progress bringing her place up to snuff over her ham and pineapple the night before, morning illuminated all the scuffs and stains that had come with the place, the scratches that wouldn't buff out. They glared at her now, even in the thin light of early evening. Maybe it was time to buy herself a place, to set down some sort of roots, to stop living out of her proverbial suitcase. The point of renting this run-down flat after the divorce had been to save enough money for a respectable down payment. There was no reason for her to live like a bachelor. The hideous brightness of Charlotte's afghan caught her eye, and it occurred to her that she hadn't pulled her last batch of laundry out of the dryer; she couldn't very well shag her co-lead on her daughter's prepubescent crochet project, even if said co-lead was very possibly the love of her life.

 _Whom you more than like_ , she thought and rolled her eyes at herself. She grabbed the empty basket, slipped on a pair of flats and bounded down the stairs to the laundry room. She ran the dryer for another five minutes, to loosen up the load, shake out the worst wrinkles, and because warm laundry was one of her favorite things. She filled the basket with sheets, wrapped the down comforter around her shoulders and tromped back up the stair. She practically jumped out of her skin when she almost bulldozed into Serena on the landing.

"I was starting to worry that you'd done another runner," Serena said and raised an amused eyebrow at her. "And while I'll admit, I was hoping to see you wrapped in your bedding, darling, this isn't exactly how I pictured it."

"My last load from yesterday," Bernie said, feeling sheepish, swaddled as she was in the voluminous white comforter. She shifted the basket to her hip to dig her keys from her pocket, vacillating between nerves and desire. Serena took the keys from her hand and opened the door. She held it wide and stood back, made space for Bernie. Bernie met Serena's gaze for a moment, took in her smirk and kissed her cheek, the laundry basket perched awkwardly, pretending she wasn't suddenly shy.

"I didn't mean to keep you waiting," she whispered from beneath her fringe, glancing at Serena, pleased to see the unguarded heat in her expression.

Serena following Bernie over the threshold, closed and locked the door behind them. She took off her coat and hung it and her purse. "Do you usually wear your washing, or was this just for me?" Serena asked, looking mirthful, as she set the keys on the table.

Bernie shrugged out of the comforter. "Only when it's warm from the dryer. Seems I left the country in a hurry. There was quite a pile waiting for me. I've been facing the music on all fronts."

"That so?"

Bernie nodded.

"You're damn lucky that your surgical skills are better than your housekeeping skills," Serena dead-panned.

"I'll say," Bernie said with an amused snort, setting the basket down on the sofa. "Thank god for takeaway, aye? Are you hungry?"

When she turned back, Serena nodded and pinned her with a look of want that burned behind her breasts, in the small of her back, between her legs, and made her forget everything but the need to feel Serena's mouth on hers.

"S..Serena," she stuttered, smiling, already anticipating. And then they were scrabbling against one another, Serena's hand at the back of her head, kissing Bernie deeply, tongue thick and searching. Bernie held on, deliciously trapped by the back of he sofa, and kissed her back, drank in the swelling lines of the body pressed to her.

"May I?" Serena asked, all earnest, dark eyes. Her fingertips plucked at Bernie's waistband, tongue flicked over her lips. Bernie kissed her back roughly, until they were both blind and panting, leaning full into one another, finding their breath.

"You don't need to ask, Serena," she finally answered, the only way she could - with her eyes tightly closed.

"Maybe I like to," Serena said, and Bernie could hear her smile, just before teeth nipped at her earlobe. With her free hand, Serena tugged open Bernie's button-fly, and shimmied into her knickers. Bernie gasped at how ready her body was for Serena, how good Serena felt.

"I'm not the only one who's been thinking about this, then?" Serena murmured against Bernie's jaw, moving languorously inside of her, interspersing her words with teasing kisses, gentle nips. "And I thought I was wet."

Bernie made a strangled noise, and shuddered into the rhythm Serena picked up, worked her hips in time, clinging to Serena's shoulders. She was wobbly, grateful for the back of the sofa under her arse, holding her up. Her breath was loud and ragged in her ears when she whispered, "More."

"Soon," Serena replied and slowed down, and carefully pulled free of her, answering the whimper Bernie made with a chaste kiss and an apologetic pout.

"Hush you," Serena crooned. "I'm not going anywhere, we just can't have you falling off of the back of the sofa and ruining our fun."

Bernie tried to catch her breath. She let herself be led round to the other side of the sofa, and sank into cushions, grateful, a little afraid of how much she needed Serena to keeping touching her. She wasn't accustomed to wanting to be wanted. It felt good. And terrifying.

"May I?" Serena whispered, catching a fold of Bernie's jumper between her thumb and fingertip.

"I told you," Bernie said, pleased that for once she could keep her eyes open, maintain the smoke in her voice. "You don't need to ask, Serena."

Serena smiled and rucked up the jumper. "And I told _you_ , I like asking." Bernie groaned at the wet heat of Serena's mouth on her breasts, the deep pull, sliding and electric. She touched Serena's face, traced her cheekbones, her jaw, surprised at the tenderness she saw. Serena hummed, sitting back, catching at Bernie's waistband, waiting, eyebrow raised. After Bernie's nod, Serena hooked thumbs into her belt loops, and dragged snug denim down her thighs.

Then Serena was touching her again, holding her down, kissing her to gasping, palming her breasts, her hips, lighting her body up.

"Serena," Bernie whined, barely louder that a whisper. "Please."

Serena nibbled at Bernie's left breast, and then obliged, with a wicked grin and surgeon's hands, filling her slowly, working her back up, pushing deep inside of her, first with two fingers, then three. It was all she could do to hold onto Serena and whisper, " _faster, more, please"_ in little pants. Serena fucked her to keening with firm, fast strokes. And when Bernie came it was in full-bodied waves, with a noise that sounded uncomfortably like a sob. Serena held her, while her body trembled and bucked, while she found her breath and voice again. Serena kissed her forehead and face, pulled the comforter around them both.

"All right?" Serena whispered finally.

Bernie nodded and held her gaze for a long moment before she kissed her, hoped Serena could see the love in her eyes. "More than all right."

"Good," Serena's smile looked shy, she hid her face after they kissed, bravado evaporated. "Sorry. But I've been wanting to do that all day."

"Knock over my laundry basket?" she stated waving a hand at the mass of tangled sheets and pyjama pants.

"Mhmm," Serena dead panned. "I've been having detailed fantasies about sabotaging your washing since I woke up."

Bernie snorted and they both laughed, relaxing into one another.

"Robbie had no idea what to do with you, did he?"

"He tried, but no. Not particularly - I offended his masculinity on a regular basis," Serena said with false seriousness. 

When their full throated laughter quieted, Bernie sighed and held Serena tighter. _I love you_ , _Serena Campbell,_ she thought.

"I've missed ... laughing with you," she said instead.

 


End file.
